


SHIELD's Little Surprise - Jemma

by SHIELDAgentMD



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Affects of Childhood, Age Regression/De-Aging, Bobbi Morse's Maternal Side, Corporal Punishment, F/F, Fanfiction, Gen, Little Jemma Simmons, Spanking, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHIELDAgentMD/pseuds/SHIELDAgentMD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this story in response to requests based on my SHIELD's Little Surprise series.  Several people requested to see a little/de-aged Simmons, so this story is for you!  Here, Jemma has also been de-aged to the tender age of six.  While Skye has been de-aged for several months, Jemma's transformation has only just taken place, and she is figuring out her place amongst the SHIELD team, who are virtually strangers to her at this point.  As Bobbi was her S.O. (in my stories anyway), Morse is now her primary caretaker, and is determined to help Jemma do something she never got to do during her first childhood... simply be a little girl.<br/>It would definitely be beneficial to read SHIELD's Little Surprise to better understand the concept of this story, but I suppose it isn't completely necessary.  Every character referred to is directly from the show/Marvel Universe, and I hold NO claim to the characters or the plotlines of the show that many of my stories are based on.<br/>This story does contain spanking/corporal punishment of a small child, done in a loving, non-abusive manner.  If this may still be a trigger for you, I encourage you not to read.  Otherwise, enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	SHIELD's Little Surprise - Jemma

**Author's Note:**

> So, in writing my SHIELD's Little Surprise series (which worry not, is NOT finished yet! :) ) I had several requests to write a story featuring a little Jemma as well. So, here we go, a trial run. There is no explanation for Jemma's age regression provided, it is just a one-off to test the waters. If there is enough positive response to this story I will seriously consider continuing the concept. So, let me know what you think!

**Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.**

  **SHIELD's Little Surprise - Jemma Simmons**

 

**Day Three**

As quiet as a mouse… a tiny mouse wearing tiny slippers on a carpeted floor even, little Jemma wanders into the doorway of the kitchen.  She silently leans against the door frame and watches Bobbi and Hunter as they prepare dinner.

Hunter was grilling burgers on the stove while Bobbi was slicing carrots julienne-style for a salad.  Every 30 seconds or so Hunter tries to distract Bobbi so that he can reach around and steal a piece of carrot from the cutting board.  He isn’t especially fond of carrots, he’s doing it only to get a rise out of Morse… and she knows it.

“Hunter!” she scolds, playfully smacking his hand away.  “Keep this up and there won’t be any carrots left for dinner.”

Lance scoffs.  “And what a terrible travesty that would be,” he ‘laments’.  Turning, he catches sight of Jemma standing shyly in the doorway and silently waves her over, gesturing to the cutting board.  He covertly mouths to the little girl, ‘c’mon… it’s fun!’

Jemma bites her lip to stifle a giggle and shakes her head timidly, her wavy brown locks swinging side to side.  It’s only her third day here with these people and she hasn’t worked out what is okay and what is ‘dangerous’ yet.  She isn’t quite ready to test it.

Hunter gestures again encouragingly.  ‘It’s easy… watch’, he mouths.  Then he taps Bobbi’s left shoulder and dives to her right for a carrot.  The experienced agent isn’t fooled however.  As soon as she feels the tap on her shoulder she grabs a wooden spoon out of the nearby vase and spins in the opposite direction.  As Hunter snatches up another piece of carrot Bobbi plants a playful swat to her lover’s backside.

“Ow!” he whines in surprise as the small carrot in his hand goes flying.

Bobbi chuckles and shakes the spoon at him.  “Keep it up… I dare you!” 

Hunter rubs his backside dramatically, and looks back over at Jemma.  “That’s spousal abuse.  I have a witness.”

At the sound of a quiet giggle Bobbi looks up and spots Jemma.  “Oh… hi, sweetheart.  Come on in here,” she prompts gently, quickly setting down the spoon.

The tiny version of the accomplished biochemist bites her lip again and slowly enters.  She glances at the food being prepared and quietly asks, “can I help?”

Morse smiles warmly and nods.  “Of course you can, honey.  Come here.  Let’s get you washed up.”  She pulls a stool over to the sink and gently rubs Jemma’s back as the youngster meticulously washes her hands.  She then hands Jemma a towel and lifts her up to sit on the counter.  “How about you tear up the lettuce for me?” she offers.

Jemma nods, pleased and watches carefully as Morse demonstrates.  Once the head of lettuce is handed to her, the little girl takes great care to make the pieces exactly the same size as Bobbi’s.  Bobbi smiles softly at the little perfectionist, and her grin only grows when she hears another little voice call excitedly out from the doorway. 

“Auntie, Uncle!” Skye shouts, before running over.  Bobbi sets down the knife she’s been using to cut up a cucumber and turns just in time to be pounced on. 

Laughing, Morse catches Skye up in her arms and hugs her tight.  She then pulls back slightly to kiss her niece’s little cheeks.  “Hey there, munchkin!  How was school?  How many Dojo points did you get today?” she asks, as is tradition.

“Good.  Eleven!” Skye responds proudly.  At Hunter’s subtle gesture, Skye then takes the opportunity to reach out and steal a cucumber slice from the cutting board.  She quickly stuffs it in her mouth, then giggles at the scandalized look on Bobbi’s face.

“I… what… you, too??” Morse asks, pretending to be upset.  “You little thief!” she teases, giving her little niece several playful light swats on her jeans-covered bottom.  Skye just giggles and squirms as she reaches out and gives Hunter a high-five.

Morse shakes her head and gives Jemma a little wink.  She then catches Hunter out of the corner of her eye, trying to encourage the sweet, quiet youngster to steal food as well and she sighs.  “Hunter, cut it out.  Jemma is the only one I can trust in the kitchen right now.”  With that, she glances at the bowl of torn-up lettuce and nods in approval.  “Okay sweetheart, great job,” she praises with a soft smile.  Morse gently lifts the little one off the counter and sets her down.

Before she’s been placed back on the ground however, Jemma asks, “what else can I do?”

Bobbi blinks, somewhat taken aback by the youngster’s eagerness to help… then she remembers, ‘of course, this is Jemma Simmons’.  It seems that no matter her age, a strong desire to please others is simply ingrained in her ward.

“Oh… well, could you set the table for me, honey?”  At Jemma’s eager nod Morse starts handing her plates, bowls, utensils and glasses. 

Bobbi thwarts Skye’s next playful attempt to steal a carrot and shoo’s the youngster out of the kitchen area.  She also asks Hunter to go gather everyone for dinner, so that he’ll stop encouraging the antics.

Lance agrees, planting a kiss on Bobbi’s cheek before heading out to wrangle the rest of the team.  As Skye heads into the dining area she watches Jemma setting the table with a slight frown on her face.  “Hey… you’re not doing it right,” the six year-old informs her friend.

“Skye,” Bobbi warns quietly, in a reproving tone.

“But her’s not doing it right,” Skye whines, reaching up to the table.  “The glasses go on the other side,” she states, moving the grown-ups’ wine glasses to the right of their plates.

Upon seeing the disappointed and abashed expression on Jemma’s little face, Bobbi sighs.  “Skye honey, she didn’t do it wrong.  There are lots of ways to properly set a table,” she explains patiently, grabbing condiments from the fridge.

But Skye doesn’t appreciate changes in the routines she has become familiar with.  The familiarity and consistency help her feel secure in her place here.  “No… that’s not how we do it!”  She frowns again and moves to fix the rest of the glasses.  In her haste to set it all ‘right’ however, Skye moves a glass a bit too close to the edge of the table and it falls to the floor with a crash, shattering into hundreds of shards.

Jemma gasps and takes several quick steps backwards, away from the broken glass.  Skye does the same, but then has a very different reaction.  She lets out a scared sob and squats down into a tiny ball, with her hands clamped tightly over her ears, as if she expects to be screamed at.  “I’n sorry… I’n sorry!” the distraught little girl starts saying over and over.

Morse blinks in surprise, wondering where on Earth Skye’s fear is coming from.  She looks to Jemma and asks gently, “are you okay, sweetie?”  When Jemma nods, Bobbi quickly moves over to Skye and kneels down beside her.

Tears are falling down the little girl’s cheeks as if she sprung a serious internal leak.  Bobbi gently strokes Skye’s hair before prying the youngster’s hands from her ears.  “Skye, munchkin… it’s okay, shhh.  Are you hurt?  Let me see,” she coos, prompting Skye to stand back up so she can check her over.

Skye shakes her head in response, still crying hard.  She looks up into Morse’s eyes and says desperately, “I’n sorry… I didn’t mean it… it was a accident!”

Bobbi’s heart sinks as she realizes that there must be a reason for this fear.  This must have happened before at some point in Skye’s life with traumatic consequences from those in charge of the little girl at the time.  What had they done?  Had they hit her?  Sent her back to the orphanage?  Just for breaking something?

While Morse ponders this, Jemma has spotted a small broom and dustpan in the corner of the room and goes silently to retrieve it.  Determined to be useful, she silently returns to the mess of glass on the floor.  The child is very familiar and skilled at not drawing attention to herself, but Bobbi glances up when she hears a tinkle of glass and sees Jemma attempting to sweep up.  Picking Skye up and rubbing her back reassuringly, Bobbi looks to Jemma and says, “oh no, no sweetie.  I’ll get that.  You stay far away from the glass, all right?”

That said, Bobbi carries Skye over to a nearby chair and sits down, cuddling the trembling youngster close.  “Skye, baby… I know it was just an accident.  You’re not in trouble, munchkin.  It’s okay…”

Jemma pauses, but when Morse turns her attention back to Skye, the tiny girl quietly resumes the sweeping.

In the midst of comforting Skye, Bobbi once again spots Jemma’s efforts to clean up and frowns.  “Jemma… I said no.  Thank you for trying to clean up honey, but I don’t want you near that broken glass.  Now move away.”

Bobbi sees the little girl swallow hard, then barely hears her as Jemma murmurs, “I’m not a baby.  I can do it.”

Morse sighs and shakes her head.  “I never said that you’re a baby, sweetheart, but cleaning up broken glass is dangerous, even for grown-ups.  And you are not to argue with me.  Bring that broom and dustpan over here, right now,” she states sternly, still stroking Skye’s hair.

As Jemma walks over dejectedly, May enters the room, looking alarmed at the sound of her daughter crying.  “Skye?  Qiānjīn, what’s wrong?” she asks, approaching Bobbi.  “Is she hurt?”

“No, no,” she assures May.  Morse points to the floor right next to her and looks sternly at little Jemma until the youngster has set down the broom and dustpan there.  “No, she’s okay.”  May pulls another chair over and reaches out to rub Skye’s back while Bobbi explains what had happened.

“… then the glass tipped and fell, breaking,” Bobbi says quietly, then shrugs and whispers, “and Skye got very afraid and upset for some reason.”

May frowns, looking quite concerned and reaches out for her daughter. 

“Okay munchkin,” Morse says softly, kissing the top of Skye’s head.  “Go see Mommy.”  She gently hands the youngster over to May who cuddles her close at once.  Bobbi’s gaze snaps to the other side of the table as again, much to her disbelief, she hears a tinkling of glass. 

“Jemma Simmons!” she scolds loudly, peering under the table. 

The six year-old brunette gasps quietly, then freezes, two larger pieces of glass held in her small, bare hands.

With a quiet noise of frustration Morse hops up and grabs up a nearby trash can, carrying it over to her little ward.  “Jemma… place those in here, very carefully.”

With almost unbelievable precision and care, Jemma slowly lowers the pieces of glass into the garbage can.

The moment that is done, Bobbi sets the can aside and scoops up Jemma.  “We’re going to be a little late for dinner,” she tells May.  “Go ahead and start without us.”  And with the feather-light little girl in her arms, Bobbi walks Jemma straight back to their room.  As she walks, she says into her comms, “hey guys, a glass fell and broke in the dining room, and I need to have a little talk with Jemma.  Would someone mind…?”

“Of course,” reply two voices, which Bobbi believes belong to both Coulson and Hunter.

“Thanks.” 

Morse flicks the light on and shuts the door behind them as they enter the room that is hers, Hunter’s and currently Jemma’s.  She gently sets the youngster down and immediately starts examining her for any cuts or shards of glass, turning her and very carefully running her fingers over the child’s baby soft skin.

Finally convinced that Jemma is unharmed, Bobbi turns her back toward her and shakes a finger at her.  “Young lady, I told you several times to stay away from that glass,” she scolds.  Bobbi’s tone is serious but patient as she looks at the tiny little girl with her hands pressed nervously to her mouth.  “Broken glass is very sharp and dangerous.  You could have been cut.  Especially using your bare hands.”  At this, Morse gently pulls Jemma’s hands away from her face and examines them closely again, wanting to reassure herself that the youngster truly isn’t hurt.

Jemma swallows hard as she watches Bobbi examine her hands.  “But… but I didn’t get cut.  I was careful,” she states quietly.

Finally reassured, Morse rubs Jemma’s tiny hands in hers.  “I know, honey.  But I told you several times not to play with the glass and you disobeyed me, Jemma.  That is not okay.”

The little girl’s eyes well up with moisture as she senses that she’s in trouble.  “I-I wasn’t playing… I was cleaning.  I’m a big girl,” she insists quietly.

Bobbi’s eyebrows furrow in concern… she’s worried about Jemma’s apparent need to be seen as a little adult.  May had once told her that what with having two PHD’s by the time she was 17, Jemma had never had much of a childhood.  Morse is sure that being an only child and constantly surrounded by adults and/or much older peers had a lot to do with that as well.  Morse sadly has yet to witness the youngster simply play or be silly, and it breaks her heart a bit.

Bobbi sits on the edge of the bed and brings Jemma in close, between her legs.  She lifts the quiet child’s chin to get her to look up at her.  “Jemma… listen to me, honey.  You are mature, and responsible, yes,” she agrees.  “But sweetheart… you *are* a little girl.  And that’s okay.  That’s all you need to be.”

Morse quickly shakes her head as Jemma frowns and opens her mouth to protest.  “No… no, listen, little one.  You are six years-old, Jemma.  Right now, you have a couple of jobs:  it is your job to play, to learn, to obey the grown-ups who take care of you, and yes, even to get into mischief and get into trouble sometimes.  Those are your only jobs, okay?  It is our job as grown-ups… mine and Hunter’s and Fitz’ and everyone’s… to take care of you and keep you safe.  And you know what?  We love our job!  We want to do our job.  We like taking care of you, and we want to.  And, you need to let us… all right?”

While the child, who has always been praised for her intelligence, self-sufficiency and (sometimes stubborn) independence, has a rather hard time accepting this, she does appreciate that Bobbi is speaking to her in terms of ‘jobs’… just like a grown-up.  She fidgets uncomfortably for a moment, prompting Morse to add, “I promise, there will be lots of things that you’ll still get to do all by yourself, but there will be other things that we will do for you or help you with.  Okay?”

Jemma considers this, and finally nods dejectedly.

“Good girl,” Morse praises softly, stroking Jemma’s soft cheek.  She then sighs heavily, as she knows what she has to do next.  “Jemma… rule number one here is going to be that you do as you are told.  I told you at least three times to step away from the glass, and you disobeyed me again and again.  That will get you in trouble every time, little one,” she says regrettably.

Jemma hangs her head and gives a quiet sniffle at this.  She hates being in trouble, always has.  She was almost always a very obedient child, eager to earn praise and meet the expectations of those around her. 

Bobbi considers hard how to handle this.  She knows that spanking Jemma as an adult always proved most effective, especially as it helped the young woman let go of any and all guilt of a misdeed and move on.  Skye seems to do well with it too, emotionally traumatized much moreso by punishments such as time-outs, which feed into abandonment issues.

Finally, looking at the little girl who so desperately wants to be seen as a grown-up, Morse decides to treat her like one and just ask her.

“Jemma, honey… have you ever had a spanking before?”

Jemma’s response to this surprises Bobbi perhaps more than anything else thus far.  Trying unsuccessfully to stifle a quiet little sob, Jemma just nods matter-of-factly and moves to the outside of Bobbi’s right leg.  Once there the six year-old timidly pulls up the back of her little skirt and leans forward slightly.  She seems to be trying to drape herself over Bobbi's knees, but she's not quite tall enough.

Morse’s heart catches in her throat and she just stares at her little ward.  Her voice hoarse with emotion, she finally asks, “sweetheart, what… what are you doing?”

Jemma meets Bobbi’s eyes for just a second before hanging her head again.  “Helping,” the little girl replies sadly, clearly resigned to her fate.

Morse can’t help it… she lets out a quiet sob as well.  “I… you… honey, please… don’t help.  Please don’t.  It-it just makes it harder on me,” Bobbi admits.

Jemma looks up at Bobbi and stares at the tear that is rolling down the agent’s cheek.  Slowly, she lets go of her skirt, allowing it to fall back into place and smoothing it down in the back.  “S-sorry,” the little girl murmurs, confused and sad.

Morse feels another few tears slide down her face and quickly wipes them away.  She knew that Jemma had been spanked as a child, but for the little six year-old to already know the ‘routine’ of a spanking, and to be so accepting of it?  It just wasn’t right.

Still, Morse had already decreed Jemma’s punishment… now she had to force herself to follow through quickly or she wouldn’t at all.  With a deep, shaky breath she lifts the little girl up and plants a quick kiss on her cheek before gently laying her across her lap.

As she herself raises Jemma’s little skirt, she is struck again by the child’s behavior.  The youngster isn’t squirming or pleading or resisting in any way.  Bobbi hears only one small, scared sob from her little charge, and sees that Jemma’s feet in her tiny black flats are crossing and uncrossing nervously.  Another silent tear rolls down Bobbi’s face.

Morse rubs Jemma’s back comfortingly and forces herself to speak.  “Okay Jemma… do you know why you’re in trouble, honey?”

Jemma’s adorable British lilt quavers as she responds, “y-yes, Miss.  I-I disobeyed you, cause you said to go away from the glass, and I didn’t.  I was bad,” she adds sadly, in a practiced manner that again tugs at Bobbi’s heart.

Morse swallows hard again and shakes her head, giving the upturned little bottom across her knees a few love taps.  “Oh… no, baby.  You were not ‘bad’.  You are a very, very good girl, Jemma.  You just made a wrong choice… you were ‘naughty’ for a few minutes.  But we are going to take care of that right now, and then everything will be okay again.  All right?”

Little Jemma lets out a sniffle and one meager squirm, then nods her understanding.

“Good girl,” Morse praises again, then without further ado, lifts her hand and brings it down lightly onto the sky blue panties with tiny red hearts on them.

Jemma lets out a tiny squeak at the first swat, but quickly covers her mouth with her hand and otherwise stays perfectly still.  Morse tries not to think of this unnatural response as she continues, noticing that after about four reasonable swats to the youngster’s vulnerable backside, the little girl’s body is tense and any cry that escapes her is quickly stifled.

Morse shakes her head again.  “Jemma, baby… if you need to wriggle or cry… you go right ahead, okay?  I won’t be upset with you,” she promises gently.

It seemed that all the little girl needed was permission.  At the next firm swat from Bobbi’s hand, Jemma yelps and then begins to cry quietly.  Two more gentle swats later and the child squirms slightly, as if testing the waters. 

Thinking that they are really getting somewhere now, Bobbi goes on although she’d really rather stop.  “Just three more, sweetheart,” she informs her well-behaved ward.  “You are such a good girl.”

The youngster gives another sob at the praise and squirms harder as she receives the final three swats to her small bum.  By the last one, she is crying into her hands and her feet are doing tiny scissor kicks. 

Incredibly relieved to be done with the child’s chastisement, Bobbi gently rubs Jemma’s back and says, “all right, honey.  All done.  And all forgiven.”

After a moment of listening to Jemma’s crying subside, Bobbi helps the little girl up.  She sets Jemma on her feet in order to adjust her hold, but before she can pull the youngster into her lap for cuddles, Jemma turns and walks away, planting herself into the nearest corner with a sniffle.  Again, the sweet little girl is showing evidence of an established routine of punishment.

Morse just looks at her for a moment.  Jemma is so sweet-natured, and eager to please.  How can she possibly get in trouble often enough to have this process down pat?  How strict were her parents, exactly?

Bobbi considers letting Jemma stay in the corner for a bit, knowing that there can be comfort in familiarity.  Finally though, as she sees the little girl’s hands balling into fists, presumably to prevent herself from rubbing her sore bottom, Morse decides against it.  Her overall goal is not to punish, but to help allow Jemma to be the little girl that she is… that she needs to be.

“Jemma, sweetheart… come here,” she says softly.

The youngster turns around to find Bobbi still seated on the bed with her arms outstretched toward her.  She hesitantly leaves her corner and pads back over, but about three steps from Morse she suddenly stops and winces.  “Ow,” the little girl whines, lifting her right foot off the ground.

Bobbi frowns and moves forward to meet her, scooping her up.  “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Jemma bends her right leg back, but still can’t see the bottom of her shoe properly.  “Something’s poking me,” she explains with a sniffle.

Morse blanches, afraid that the child may have gotten some glass imbedded in her after all.  She moves back over to the bed and sits down, then says softly, “okay sweetie, I'm not going to spank you again, I promise.  But let’s check your shoes.”  With that she lays the youngster gently across her knees again, Jemma’s upper body supported on the bed, and bends her right leg back to examine the shoe. 

Sure enough, she sees a small shimmer as the light from the nearby lamp reflects off of a small shard of glass stuck in the bottom of the little Mary Jane.  Morse winces slightly herself and says, “okay love, I want you to tell me if it hurts at all when I take off your shoe, all right?”

Jemma nods and Bobbi feels her tense up again, apparently anticipating pain.  Morse unbuckles and removes the little girl’s shoe very, very slowly and carefully, relieved when Jemma just states, “that’s better”.  Bobbi peers inside the tiny shoe and sees that the glass is only poking through about a fraction of an inch. 

She peers closely at the bottom of Jemma’s foot, happy not to see any blood or any kind of puncture mark.  She runs her fingertips up and down the bottom of the tiny foot, and much to her delight, Jemma squirms and lets out a little giggle. 

“Ohhh, I’ve found one of your ticklish spots, have I?” Bobbi teases, continuing to gently tickle the child.

Morse makes a production of examining Jemma’s left foot as well, for another chance to tickle the youngster.  She is rewarded for this with more quiet giggles and happy squirms.

Finally, when she has run out of ‘excuses’ to tickle the child, Bobbi lifts little Jemma back up and into her arms.  Jemma squirms, somewhat uncertain about this, and Morse is further convinced that the little girl is completely unaccustomed to physical affection.  She truly hopes that this is something that can be worked through, because Bobbi cherishes Jemma, always has, and physical affection is one of the main methods that Morse uses to show her love for someone.

For now, Jemma allows Bobbi to snuggle her for a minute or two.  A couple times Bobbi catches the little girl looking longingly at the agent’s long blond tresses, as if fighting the urge to play with her hair.  Morse feels especially hopeful when Jemma nuzzles into her neck briefly, though it could have just been the child adjusting.

After another quiet moment of cuddles Bobbi finally sighs and says, “okay, honey.  Are you hungry?  Ready for dinner now?”

Jemma nods and slides down off of Bobbi’s lap.  She moves to her little shoes and goes to slip them on, but Morse quickly stops her.  “No sweetheart.  Not yet.  We’re going to put them under a magnifying glass and make extra sure that there is no glass left before you wear them, okay?  You can help us if you’d like,” she adds, and grins as the little face of the future scientist brightens.

In the meantime, Morse prompts Jemma to wear her slippers and the youngster obeys.  As Morse leads Jemma out of the room and down the corridor back to the dining room, she glances back to see the youngster rubbing her slightly sore bottom.  Jemma immediately ceases, apparently afraid she’s been caught doing something wrong, but Bobbi just gives her a soft smile and whispers, “you are a very, very good girl”.  The little girl can’t help but smile politely back. 

This new situation will clearly take a little time for six year-old Jemma Simmons to get used to.  But as she is greeted enthusiastically by everyone already seated around the dining table, she decides that it may not be so bad after all.

 

The End


End file.
